Settle Down with Me
by consultingtimelord
Summary: Sherlock and Molly share a dance on the eve of them leaving 221B.


**AN: **For Nicole, because she drew a thing and I'm into that.

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><p><em>Settle down with me <em>  
><em>And I'll be your safety <em>  
><em>You'll be my lady <em>

_I was made to keep your body warm _  
><em>But I'm cold as, the wind blows <em>  
><em>So hold me in your arms <em>

_- Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran_

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><p>First impressions are unreliable. Not to be mistaken for instinct, or deduction, those can be and are key to revealing the mysteries of a stranger. But impressions are changeable. From one moment to another, labels can change. It can be instantaneous - it can be over time. Sherlock's impression of Molly had changed vastly from his first assumption, in all the years he'd known her.<p>

At first, she'd been a recently graduated medical student, specializing in forensic science. She had little to no friends, lived alone, her father had recently passed, and she thought he was attractive. She was a pawn, simple enough to move and dispose of in the game of life. After all, she was the only thing in the way of his free access to the morgue, and all it took was a warm smile tossed her way. Then she got a cat, and dated the world's greatest criminal mastermind. She was the first person in the world he'd handed an apology over to without pure physical force taken to steal it away. She never broke the word he gave her, only held it close and forgave. She didn't betray him in his vulnerability.

Not only was she convenient, she became _trustworthy_. Proven loyal enough to protect his life, which in the grand scheme of things was far less useful than his words. Legacy remained when a heartbeat didn't. Of course, something immortal isn't as easy to protect. He didn't expect her to. He never asked her to extend her shelter so far.

Only she did. When he left to dismantle Moriarty's network, she kept his words and defended him. Nearly lost her job too, the idiot. But she kept his reputation in the best shape for his return. Like an old coat, he was able to return and fit into his place in London all too well. No wonder Anderson had assumed they were a couple, when Molly was on the front lines of his brigade. His legacy was what Moriarty had attempted to destroy, and he had left it rot. Molly had picked it up, dusted it off, and put it on a mantle.

He often found that love was a chemical defect. It left people far too open, far too vulnerable. Too many people died simply because they opened their heart to what was only a concept. But... if one were to remove their armour in order to let love in, and that love became a suitable replacement for armour, why not love? Why not let it consume, why not let love round out the sharp edges?

Sherlock was a genius. There was very little he could not know. So of course, as soon as he had reached this conclusion, he had no hesitation in marrying Molly. Dating was a fickle idea, and irrelevant to Sherlock's interests. There was only one person Sherlock could trust with his beating heart for the rest of his life, and that was Molly.

His wife, Molly Holmes. He rather liked the sound of it. It had taken a long time to adjust to the idea of belonging, but Molly was a patient teacher, and he was an eager student.

"You're in your head again,"

Sherlock blinked, tilting his head to look down at Molly. She gave him a weary smile, her eyes crinkling in a way they didn't all those years ago when they first met. She has a beautiful smile, even if it was at the expense of teasing him.

"Where else would I be? It's my head, it's my body," he responded, his left hand sliding around her back to draw her closer.

They were swaying in the living room of 221B, as a quiet piano and guitar duet drifted from Molly's iPod. He didn't know the words - he could never be bothered to learn - but the tune was one he recognized as one of Molly's favourites. He intertwined his right hand with her left, and hummed quietly along. Molly sheepishly ducked her head, hiding her red cheeks. With a smile that could have matched her earlier teasing one, Sherlock dropped a kiss into her hair.

"Was thinking about the test," he murmured, muffled by her hair. He lifted his head and went on, "Immediate judgements are, often, incorrect. Labels you stick to a person at a first glance are flexible, changeable."

Molly set her cheek against his chest, and his heart positively fluttered at the feeling. He squeezed her fingers in his and continued.

"If I were to use an example, I'd say you. First assumption of you when I first met you was a single medical student living on her own, with a cat."

"I still have the cat," she pointed out.

"Hush, I'm deducing," he reprimanded softly.

Her mouth formed a small 'o' as she restrained a giggle, and whispered, "Sorry, do go on."

"All those observations would be wrong. I look at you now and see none of it."

Molly pressed her lips tightly together to stop her smile, "And what do you see?"

"My wife, wearing my Cambridge class sweater, pregnant with our first child."

"Oh,"

"Oh," he repeated warmly, letting go of her hand to slide his own gently across her large belly.

"And you were thinking about when I told you. The pregnancy test," she realized. He nodded in confirmation.

"We sat over there, right on the sofa and just stared at the test until it changed. A complete profile of someone is built up overtime but... there was no graduation of stages to it. I couldn't look at you the same as soon as we read it, you were... pregnant. It wasn't like falling in love, that is a process, believe me, I took far longer than I should have-"

He stopped as Molly choked out a watery chuckle. Baffled, he looked at her teary face.

"What're you doing, why are you crying-"

"Happy tears, happy tears," she assured quickly, laughing at her foolishness, "Oh, you're so... god, you've got something alright."

"It's rather all the things I don't have that I'm trying to get across. What I mean to say is, a sudden change is something I am unfamiliar with. Unfamiliarity is a common phobia with human beings, it's a natural reaction to the unexpected. I ought to be afraid, that you've changed."

"Takes two to tango. I didn't just decide to pregnant one day," Molly pointed out.

"I'd prefer a waltz, if you must know," he said stiffly, and without irony. Molly knew he didn't realize he was being funny, so held her giggle in as he went on, "But that's what I am getting at, if you'll let me get to it."

"Sorry, do go on," she mimicked her earlier statement.

"As I was saying, I ought to be afraid that you are pregnant now, and things will be different. I ought to be afraid of becoming a father. I ought to be afraid of leaving Baker Street for a bigger flat. But that would also mean I'm afraid of who I am now, because who I was before would never want to consider doing any of it."

"And now?"

Sherlock kissed her. She had not expected it, but Molly welcomed the warm touch easily. They'd been together long enough that his touch had settled into routine, comforting consistency. Her husband broke the kiss gently, and pressed his forehead against hers.

"Why should I be scared when I have you to protect me?"

Molly closed her eyes, pushing back the tears that threatened to drip down her cheeks again. She took in a deep breath, and leaned close enough to touch his nose with hers.

"Oh, Sherlock," she kissed him briefly, and opened her eyes to meet his adoring gaze, "It's my pleasure to love you."


End file.
